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Quincy Senior High School 


Member of 

C. S. P. A. 






Number 1 

The Staff 

Editor Richard Cooke 

Literary Margaret Higginbothnm 

News Doris Dennison 

Alumni Cabi Comoletti 

Exchange Elizabeth Paragallo 

<> Aune Wehter 

Toivo Nousio 

Johes M arion M arr 

Art Beatrice Barton 

Albert Ferrell 

Edwin Dalziel 


Class Representatives 
Albert Crowley '34 John Wilson "35 

Faculty Advisers 
Vera Call, Muriel Goudey, Margaret Marr, Cutherine Walsh, Leslie Millard 

Kntercd as seconcldnss m ntter, Jnnc ">. 1 1 1 ■ - Pott Office nt Boston, Mass, 
under the Act of March 8, 1870 


Who are we, 

Who by the building of a wooden box 

And the turning of a tiny dial, 

May snatch from out a boundless void 

The grandeur or the folly of the race — 

Who by the power from a tube and wire 

May harness elements to bring us sound — 

And clear across the ether reach to hear 

The stupidness or genius of men? 

Who are we 

Who have created this? .... We are Pandoras, 

Whom time and reason yet must teach 

To choose wisely from our enchanted box. 

Margaret Higginbotham 


First Prize Story 
Richard Carlisle 

HUNCHEON had begun. Merely another meal of the two hundred- 
odd that composed Copper Kettle's summer season. It was just a 
pleasant interlude of good food to the guests and transients. But 
to the kitchen crew it meant two hours of building "Rose Plate 
Specials" from store and ice-box, of pushing mountains of dishes through 
a one-tray washer, and of forcing minutes into seconds. To Dick Lowell, 
bookkeeper and kitchen helper, it meant another fast inning of the hotel 
game — a game of challenging opportunities. Dish washing is not exciting, 
nor is adding figures, but in a summer inn almost anything can happen and 
it usually does. 

"I wish someone would wait on that hen party in the front room," Dick 
was saying to a waitress. "The big lady in blue was cackling so loud I had 
to stop 'phoning." 

"I was just on my way. Anyhow, this is no time to be 'phoning your sick 
aunts. Why — " 

"Hey, Dick!" the cook informed, "there's a tramp at the back door." 

A tramp there was and what a specimen ! From the shoulders down he 
seemed a man in his thirties, but sad eyes peered from a face nearly hidden 
by whiskers. This full beard was obviously grown to cover scars, for what 
could be seen of his face was cut into mountains and canyons. 

"I'd like to work for a meal, sir," the man told Dick. 
. "I can't think of any work right now, but if you wait in the clothes yard 
until after lunch, I'll get you some food." 


"You seem to have been through quite a lot," remarked Dick, his curi- 
osity overcoming his natural tact. 

"I know the brush doesn't cover it all, " said the tramp sadly. "That 
accident — excuse me, I guess my troubles couldn't interest you." 

"But they do. The kitchen will not need me for a while. Please go on." 

"0. K. If you are interested. Right after our honeymoon an auto carved 
me up and sent me to the hospital. Everyday my wife would come to see 
me. I knew she was wondering and fearing how I'd look when the band- 
ages were off. One afternoon after my wife had gone, the 'doc' came in 
and took off the bandages. When I looked into a mirror I wished I was 
dead. I couldn't recognize myself. I knew that I could never hold my job. 
I had been a sales-manager and a good one, too. Right then I decided that 

my wife would never see me again. She hasn't. I slipped the hospital that 
night, leaving a check to my bank account for my wife and a note telling 
why desertion was necessary and that she could get a divorce. It was a 
hard thing to do. I've been on the road twelve years. She remarried seven 
years ago. But I — ." 

"Dick, come in and help. We've got a rush !" came a summons from the 

"Wait here. I'll be out later with something for you," shouted Dick over 
his shoulder. 

Noise, odor, and haste dominated the kitchen. The hum of the washer 
motor united the clitter-clatter of silver and china, the whir of the venti- 
lators, and the thud-thick-thud of hurried steps into a wild song of haste. 
The smell of boiling onions clashed with the sharp odor of soapy steam and 
the pleasant aroma from broiling steaks. Everybody seemed to be rush- 
ing to get nowhere by yesterday. No place could be so chaotic and yet so 
efficient as the kitchen of a summer inn. 

Dick entrenched himself at the receiving end of the washer and attacked 
the stream of dripping hot dishes with a dry towel. While mechanically 
drying the contents of tray after tray, he thought about the bewhiskered 
tramp. Was his story true ? The man had told it with strong feeling as he 
had probably told it to hundreds of others to gain their sympathy. It was 
his "line", and he knew how to use it. If the story were true, the tramp 
deserved a better "break" than he was getting now. 

About twenty minutes later Dick went to the other end of the washer to 
have a pile of plates re-washed. A waitress slid a tray onto the dish board. 

"Your cackler must be dieting," she laughed to Dick. "Look — she 
finished the onions and carrots, but just sampled the steak and left her 
spud unopened." 

"Dieting couldn't hurt her any," Dick replied, "but she certainly threw 
the best part of a dollar-fifty away." 

Dick took the steak and the potato with some coffee and bread out to 
the tramp. 

"It would be rather embarrassing," mused the tramp as he pounced on 
the steak, "if I should ever meet Elsie — she's got all the money she can 
use, now ; but I beg for my meals. How different life would have been if 
speed had meant less. I wonder if she ever thinks about me." 

"I've got to get back to the dishes. When ycu get through, come to the 
door and knock. I'll have some work for you to do." 

The rush was at its height. Food was running low. Dick was dispatched 
to the bakery for bread. When he came back by the clothesyard, he did 
not see the tramp. He delivered the bread and bolted out to find the man. 
The cup, plate, and silver were on the window sill. No food was left. It 

[Continued <>n page 36] 


Prize Poem 

Frances L. Carlson 

The gold of sunset skies, 

The deeper gold 

Of sheaves of grain. 
The blackbird rests on new-turned mould, 
And softly chirps his sad refrain 

'Ere he southward flies. 

Soft rustles in the corn, 

The softer brush 

Of prairie grass; 
Old Zephyr sighs, a moment's hush, 
With lyric honks, geese stately pass, 

— A melody is born. 

How mildly wanes the evening light! 

And still more mild, 

With infinite trust, 
Earth, like a drowsy, homing child, 
Beneath the western stars seeks rest. 

— Thus falls the Prairie Night. 


Margaret Higginbotham 

XWAS examining an atlas recently for the purpose of learning the 
area of some obscure county in North Carolina, when my eye fell 
on an attrative name — What Cheer. Immediately good old Grid- 
ley County, or whatever it was, completely left my mind and I 
lost myself in mental pictures of what a town with such a jolly name as 
What Cheer could be like. I visioned a little hill-village, tucked in at the 
edges with rambling stonewalls, and peopled by sturdy miners with their 
crisp housewives and rosy-cheeked youngsters. However, I imagine I 
should be much disillusioned if I should travel to my "little" What Cheer, 
for statistics say its population is 1310, and probably it is as sober as any 
New England town. But those are the chances you take in romancing with 
geography. I hold that it is a fascinating game despite possible disillusion- 
ment, for if you are at least a couple of thousand miles away, you will 
probably never have the misfortune to discover that Ferndale has a skyline 
as ferny as Quincy's, and that the keepers of Deer Park, Scotland, have 
to go to a museum to see what that animal called the deer looks like. 

When I was a child, Iceland was one of the most mysterious and excit- 
ing places on earth to me. Somewhere, somehow, I had gained the idea 
that it was, literally, a land of ice, and I can still remember the visions I 
had of poor, little children who could suck only icicles for candy ! To this 
day, with the resistless force of all my childhood imaginings behind me, 
I cannot think of Iceland other than an expanse of ice, boasting a few ig- 
loos and Eskimos, and the Northern Lights every night. 

Thus can much of the romance connected with names be traced to fan- 
cies of our childhood. 

There are other reasons why we are attracted by the names of rivers, 
mountains, and cities, and even nations. History plays an important part 
in our tastes. A good many less, for instance, would sail up the Saint 
Lawrence to Quebec each year, if the French and Indian War and the 
blending of English and French history in that old town had not woven a 
glamour about the name Quebec that is irresistible. 

So it is with the river Tiber. What a sluggish and muddy river it is! 
Yet who remembers that, when he thinks of such incidents as the heroic 
battle of Horatio who kept back, almost single handed, a band of soldiers 
from crossing the bridge, until it had been undermined by the men below. 
Tiber doesn't spell romance in appearance, but it certainly does in history. 

A wealth of beautiful and suggestive names can be had for the search- 
ing on almost any trip, and the maps are covered with them. It is one of 
my most treasured ambitions to, some day, go the rounds of all my fa- 

JContinufd on page 38] 

8 — ======= — 


Second Prize Story 
Newton MacLeod 

S he slowly undressed 

in the twilight of the 

Bayview High School 

locker room, the gloo- 
my look on the face of "Red" 
Baker gave evidence of his 

More than midway through 
its schedule, the highly-touted 
Bayview basketball team had 
done little more than earn an 
even break. The fact that this 
record was made only over the 
"warm-up" teams on its list did 
not give any added luster to the 
achievement. In the five remain- 
ing games, the squad faced its 
fiercest combats, with Middle- 
town and its crack outfit, their 
traditional rivals, looming as an 
insurmountable barrier. 

Red had diagnosed his fellow 
players and had come to the in- 
disputable conclusion that poor 
basket-shooting was the cause 
of most of the team's defeats. 

The Bayview athletes had developed a smooth, fast, passing attack, and 
this factor alone had enabled them to keep clear of utter rout, for it seemed 
that when the ball was in Bayview hands, the basket would emulate the 
bear and go into hibernation. Baker wearily shook his head in disgust, 
but he determined not to complain and so ran briskly out onto the gym 

Although it was early in the afternoon, someone else occupied the gym 
before him, — a tall, rawboned youth with a countrified manner. He was 
doggedly and systematically shooting at the basket, letting fly with an un- 
orthodox motion that brought the ball from between his knees. This style 



was obviously no drawback, for invariably the ball slipped through the 

Discovering his audience, the player staged an impromptu exhibition 
and whirled about the floor shooting from all angles and making each shot 
count. These shots, coming as it were from the nether regions, provided an 
element of unexpectedness that was startling. 

Red's imagination became active ; suppose that this element could be in- 
troduced at a critcal point in a critical game. Would it not disconcsrt the 
opponents? It certainly would!! 

Rousing from his reverie, he rushed across the floor and interrupted en- 
thusiastically, "Say! That's the best basket-shooting I've ever feasted 
my eyes upon. Why weren't you out for the team?" 

The stranger hesitated and then gave answer quietly, "I'm rather 
ashamed to admit this, but I've never played a real game of basketball in 
my life." 

Red's excited exclamation shook an echo from the beams above. "What ! 
Never played? Then where did you learn to shoot baskets as well as you 

More questions followed until it came out that the youth Bill Ripley was 
a transfer from Sprucehead, Maine. Basketball was foreign to him be- 
cause the town was so small it could not muster enough material to form 
two teams. Bill, however, got hold of a ball and, after constructing a regu- 
lation basket in his yard, had practiced for hours until he acquired the un- 
canny skill which had astounded Baker. Having no one to imitate and no 
one to correct him, he had developed a style peculiar to himself. That it 
was effective, Red had seen. 

Later that day, at the regular practice session, Baker expounded his 
theory to the coach, and when the mentor had seen Ripley in action, he 
agreed with Red that the idea was a reasonably sound one. 

At the end of the practice session, however, the old apathy had returned, 
for the newcomer from Maine did not prove to be the help expected. He 
disrupted the entire passing attack and becoming excited, would shoot for 
the nearest basket, making no distinction between his own and the opposi- 
tion's. Notwithstanding these facts, the coach saw enough promise in the 
boy to merit a uniform and so. one was doled out to him while instructions 
were given Baker that he was to educate Ripley in the ways of basketball. 

In the weeks that followed, Baker carried out his instructions faithfully. 
Every afternoon would find the two in the gym practicing diligently. Red 
taught Bill the fundamentals, but he did not drill him on the style of play ; 
instead he had the youth concentrate on getting his shots away fast. 

Meanwhile the Bayview team had continued to hold its own with great 
effort, but they considered these preliminary games of little account, for 


they were already anticipating for their objective game with Middletown. 
The Middletown players, moving with speed and unison, continued the 
wide swath they were cutting through the competition with an efficiency 
that prophesied no good for Bayview. 

As the day of the key game approached, the fruits of Red Baker's in- 
struction became evident. Ripley played well, and the accuracy of his shoot- 
ing was a joy to behold. The coach placed a great deal of hope in him and 
matched it with a confidence in Bill, when the starting lineup was posted 
the night before the big game, by establishing Bill at a forward post. 

Dressing for the game the next day, Ripley vowed to push himself to 
the utmost and not hamper his teammates by his lack of experience. 

The referee's whistle started the game shrilly, and at the tap-off, Bill 
leaped in towards the center. But before he could lay hands on the ball, 
tripping himself, he fell fiat on the floor while the play went past him. 
This caused his undoing and he went completely to pieces, snarling up the 
attack of the hoopsters so badly that he was taken out before the end of 
the first quarter. 

As he walked to the bench, a wit among the spectators shouted, "Back 
to the bush leagues with him !" The ripple of laughter this sally brought 
rankled in Bill's mind as he dully watched the game proceed through the 
third quarter. 

Bayview's situation was desperate. By dint of extraordinary play they 
had held Middletown to a fifteen point lead, but now the rain of baskets 
was unnerving them. Nevertheless, as they lay panting on the floor in the 
rest period, they tried not to appear discouraged. The coach knew their 
feelings, however, and acting on an impulse born of necessity, he called 
sharply, "Get in there, Ripley, and fight with all you've got and try to keep 
your face off the floor !" 

The fourth quarter of that game is history. Bill, apparently temporarily 
demented, and certainly impervious to all shouts from the stands, played 
like a regiment of tornadoes. He was everywhere ; taking a pass and, with 
his deceptive motion, converting it into a score; blocking a Middletown 
shot, and generally playing with a skill and polish that enabled Bayview 
to overtake the opponents and knot the score at thirty-two all. With less 
than a minute to play, Bill, in midcourt, received a pass and, gathering his 
fleeting strength, hurled it basketward. Up, up, it soared, between the 
rafters and, dropping like a plummet, won the game for Bayview when it 
swished through the basket, 

In the midst of the tumult which arose from five hundred voices, only 
one shouted phrase lingered in Bill's ears, "No bush leagues for him, he 
can have a whole major league for himself!!" 



Honorable Mention 
Frances L. Carlson 

Today the wind caressed me with 

A softer touch than yesterday; 

Its freshness, rare and sweet, like wine, 

On phantom wings bore me away. 

It breathed a hope brim full of life; 
It whispered tales of love and June. 
It lured my fancies into dreams 
Of sunny days, when joy is rife, 
Of nights, in which a mellow moon 
Gilds ev'ry rose-cup with her beams. 

Then, all at once, I came to earth; 
The wind was cold, the sky, austere. 
My ravishing mirage was gone, 
— Had faded, vanished in the air. 


Honorable Mention 

Charles H. Frome 

These shall be three sad things — 
The call of war — 
The realization of a lost love — 
And the death of a friend. 


Honorable Mention 
Avis Walker 

^J^~> recover the bodies of the S-40's crew and salvage the submarine 
M C\ was no easy matter, for she had sunk bow first after the Sea 
%^_V Queen had struck her amidships, and buried her nose fourteen 
feet into the mud and clay that formed the ocean floor. Neither 
was it a very pleasant job hunting dead men on the bottom of the sea. 

Tom Evans, one of the five divers on the Ellsworth salvage ship, was 
seated on deck, his diving suit about his waist, busily soaping his wrists 
before attempting to wriggle them through the tight wrist bands of his 
rubber suit. When he had forced his hands through the cuffs, his tender 
lifted the heavy breastplate and put it over Tom's shoulders, button-holing 
it to his suit after smoothing down the bib inside. As soon as the lead shoes 
were strapped on and the weights hooked up, the tender tested the radio 
set within the helmet and screwed it to the breastplate. 

With the aid of two sailors he reached the stage. His headgear and 
breastplate weighed heavily on his shoulders as the stage swung up and 
over the side. He heard a tap on his helmet — the signal that they were go- 
ing to lower away. Down he dropped until the water swirled about his 
shoulders and covered his face plate. A steady stream of bubbles rose 
above him. All about was the yellow-green water in which there darted 
many-colored fish. 

The stage came to a halt at twenty feet. Tom grasped the descending 
line nearby which was moored to the submarine. 

"Off stage. Lower away !" he called into the transmitter as he started 
downward, hand over hand. Above him his life-line and air-hose faded out 
of sight, and below, the line also disappeared. It was like climbing from 
nothingness to nothingness. Deeper and deeper he dropped, opening his 
air valve to increase the pressure within his suit to cope with that of the 
water which grew with the added depth. His helmet no longer weighed up- 
on his shoulders, for the compressed air bore it up. 

A dark shape appeared below and a minute later he heard a dull clang 
as his heavy shoes struck the deck. 

"On the bottom!" he shouted, his voice thick and lifeless under the in- 
creased pressure. Evans waited impatiently for the second diver who was 
to help him. Finally he saw a pair of lead shoes take form above him and 
soon Phil Andrews was standing close by on the sloping deck, a powerful 
light hooked to his belt. 


Together they went to the rent amidships and crept in, carefully tend- 
ing their air-hoses from the sharp edges. Turning sideways Evans forced 
his way through the narrow doorway into the control room. Andrews 
followed. Obviously the water had rushed in too quickly to be checked, for 
the submarine was open all the way to the torpedo room. 

The first body was found just inside the second door where the rush of 
water had caught the poor devil before he could escape. Gingerly Evans 
grasped it beneath the arms and pulled it after him into the control room. 
He felt quite relieved when he had left that awful sight behind him near the 
conning tower. Gliding back he found Andrews tugging at a mass of 
wreckage dislodged when the S-40 had struck the ocean floor. Tom saw 
him signal and when he answered, Phil pointed to a yellow-haired lad a 
few years younger than themselves caught beneath it — a look of horror 
still imprinted upon his face. Unknowingly Evans swallowed a lump that 
had risen in his throat. 

Obeying Phil's signal, he attempted to shift the wreckage in order to 
release the body. He stepped to one side, after a few tries, to rest a bit and 
and see how the other diver was getting along. Suddenly he saw the heap 
waver and begin to fall his way. Involuntarily he shouted, nearly deafen- 
ing himself. He tried to step aside, but his air-hose was caught on a pro- 
truding valve. He did not dare to tug the line. The next instant the wreck- 
age struck and, though it missed him, he was filled with added horror as 
he saw the severed end of his air-hose from which the life-giving air was 
streaming in a myriad of silvery bubbles. The little air left in his helmet 
was rapidly growing foul. He struggled to keep upright for he knew the 
air would spill out if he fell. His ears began to throb and he felt himself 
growing dizzy. Tom began to gasp and choke as the air deadened and all 
the horrible fantasies of a dying man filled his brain. Peace settled upon 
him as he sank to the floor. 

Andrews was filled with terror at what had happened. Frantically he 
raked his brain for some method by which he might save his friend from 
almost certain death. Just then his eye fell upon a loop of Evans' air-hose 
caught in the wreckage. Ripping his razor-sharp knife from its sheath, 
he cut it loose and pulled the freed end down, then knelt beside the uncon- 
scious diver and slit the suit just below the breastplate. Into this he thrust 
the end of the hose from which the bubbles rose steadily. A breath of re- 
lief passed his lips when he saw the air bubbling through the escape-valve 
of Evans' helmet. 

With the inert diver thrust before him, he managed to get through to 
the jagged break in the submarine's shell. From this he hurried to the 
mooring line. He was breathing heavily ; the thick air did not seem to fill 
his lungs. The line was cut in a second from where it was held and he 
grasped it firmly with one hand. The other still clutched the unconscious 

diver. [Continued on page 38] 

- 14^= 


Spencer Peel 

I lie at night and listen to the waves upon the beach, 

And think — It must be God I hear, in wordless, wonderful speech. 

A whisper low of something sad, a breath of mystery, 

Waves that wash the ageless sands of shores across the sea, 

The tall, dim ghosts of sunken ships, and all infinity 

Come through my open windows and, silent, speak to me. 

A lonely, faithful lighthouse-beam, a lobster-boat in the haze, 

Graceful gulls against grey skies — such visions charm my gaze. 

I lie at night and listen, and the waves upon the shore 

Sing my soul an old, strange song, a song I've heard before: 

It sings in the rushing roar of surf, in a fog-horn's haunting call; 

Dawn's grey mist can bring it, too, when sails hang limp and tall; 

It moves through the long, smooth surge of a yacht, in the wind, in the 

beat of the rain, 
In the nautical smell of oakom, like an old friend back again. 
It stirs in me vague longings, goes through me sweet and strong, 
And I pray my soul may never lose the clear, fresh charm of that song. 


An Experience of m^ grandfather, a Baptist Missionary in India 

Samuel Evans 

S I jogged along the Grand Trunk road in my trap, I saw in 
the distance, a great throng of Hindus congregated under a pepal 
tree. In their midst was a newly carved statue of Durga, which 
was being worshipped by the people. 

I stopped my horse and hailed the haughty Brahmin priest. 

"What is this great "puja" (worship) ?" 

"It is nothing the Sahib-dog would understand, but this I will tell you ; 
the people of the village have suffered greatly from cholera for two years 
and since there is no temple to Durga here, they have had an image made 
so that at her pleasure Durga will remove the curse. I am here to invoke 
the spirit of the goddess and 'after this puja, Durga will dwell in the idol," 
the surly Brahmin replied. 

"That's all stuff and nonsense; how can a god be in a stone?" 

"We know it is a stone, for the man that carved it is in our midst, but 
you do not realize that all Hindus have progressed further in religion than 
white men?" 

The ceremony began, drums sent forth that weird, throbbing challenge ; 
dancers took their places, and as the ceremony progressed, leaped wildly, 
uttering wild heart-rending shrieks like frenzied devils. Faster and faster, 
wilder and wilder, louder and louder, until at last wearied, panting, and 
breathless the dancers dropped, and a ceremony of prayers began. A goat 
was killed as a sacrifice and its blood, still warm, sprinkled over the idol, 
and the people fell down and worshipped it rubbing oil and red ochre over 
its body. 

"Does the spirit of Durga dwell in the idol yet?" I put the question to 
the Brahmin priest, at the end of the ceremony. 

"Yes!" came the emphatic reply. 

"How would it be, "I said, "if I should give that greasy, slimy Durga a 
slap?" The priest, when he had recovered his voice, answered even as he 
paled at the thought. 

"Don't do it, you'll drop dead." 

I ambled over as calmly as I could and to the horror of the worshipping 
people, gave the idol a terrific slap — nothing happened! "You'll die to- 
night," the disgusted Brahmin muttered. 

There was a deep well nearby and to show further the sham of the 
priests, I said, "If I drop Durga into the well, and she flies out of the well 


by herself and sits under the pepal tree, then and only then will I worship 
the stone goddess myself." To this the Brahmin moaned and dazedly be- 
gan to implore me not to do it in terror of my life. I picked up the huge 
image and staggering to the well's edge watched her sink with a terrific 

I was covered with red ochre and oil but triumphant and. I guess, more 
daring than before, for I said to the Brahmin ; "Goodbye until next week." 
I hopped lightly into my trap and started home whistling contentedly. 

"You won't be alive next week !" 

A week later I set out again to visit the pepal tree. While still a great 
distance away, I saw an even greater throng of Hindus assembled. A way 
was opened at my approach and the triumphant face of the Brahmin priest 
with a grin not unmingled with contempt appeared. "Sahib," he said, "now 
you too must fall down and worship Durga." I was at loss for word or 
action when my eye fell on a Bhisthi Mohammedan water carrier, who 
hated the Hindus because they were idolators. He was almost in hysterics. 
I suspected that he might know something that would prove the sham of 
the priest. The Bhisthi, only too glad to furnish something that would 
bring ridicule to the Hindus and the Brahmin priest said : "Last night 
these men were frantic because they knew you were coming today and Dur- 
ga was as deep in the well as before. One of the men found out that my boy 
could swim and dive, so he paid him eight annas (twelve cents) to dive for 
Durga. He tied a rope around Durga's neck and they hauled her up. 

The chagrinned and dejected Brahmin priest hurriedly disappeared in- 
to the arms of the crowd. 


Hurrah, it is autumn! The wind is about, 

The rollicking, frolicking breezes are out, 

And all of the leaves, when the North Wind heaves, 

Go sailing to Kalamazoo! 

Hurrah, it is autumn! The bonfires glow, 
The blushing and flushing red apples must grow 
Till they hang on the trees like lazy old bees, 
Just ready to drop to the ground. 

Hurrah, it is autumn! Deep blue is the sky, 
The hurrying, scurrying squirrels frisk by. 
And all is a rush, with no time to hush, 
Till winter comes stealth'ly to stay. 

But oh, and hurrah! It is autumn to-day, 
The airiest, merriest season, I say! 
And life is just fine — no reason to whine — 
Be happy! It's autumn — hurrah! 

Margaret Higginbotham. 


An Intervietv with Paul Whiteman 
By William Coleman 

FTER leading stage man- 
agers and secretaries a 
merry chase throughout the 
backstage of the Keith- 
Boston Theatre, I finally and thank- 
fully found myself in the dressing 
room of Paul Whiteman, "The King 
of Jazz." It was a typical dressing 
room, such as is now found in all the 
countries' biggest theatres, — large 
and clean with at least ten mirrors 
placed at different angles around the 
walls. Here in the midst, Paul 
Whiteman was busily and efficiently 
making up his rotund face to appear 
before the glare of the spotlight. 
The so-called "ice was broken" when I ventured that it was not so hard 
to see him as would be supposed. Was it because he was not so "big as he 
used to be?" (I recalled his famous diet.) At this bit of would-be humor, 
Mr. Whiteman graciously but heartily laughed, putting me fully at ease. 
Feeling that we had both properly introduced each other, Mr. White- 
man decided that we should "get down to business" and prepared himself 
for the usual questions that are asked by interviewers. 

From him I learned that his father is supervisor of music in the Denver, 
Colorado Schools. Paul began his own musical career as first viola player 
(whatever that is) in the Denver Symphony Orchestra; in 1915 he held 
the same position in the World's Fair Orchestra in Chicago. (This was 
only a fair orchestra.) It fared well, however, and gave him a fine local 
reputation. During the World War he led the U. S. Navy Band and then 
formed his own orchestra in San Francisco. It was while he was there 
that he originated the style of playing that was to earn him the title "The 
King of Jazz." 

Whiteman has been generous in backing ambitious radio stars, the most 
famous of these being the incomparable Bing Crosby. Crosby was first 
with Mr. Whiteman as a member of a trio named the "Rhythm Boys." It 
was while Bing was with the group that he attracted the attention of 

(Continued on page 35) 



An Intervietv with "Little Jack" Little 

By Ed Pearlin and Joe Ford 


S "Little Jack" sauntered off 

the stage of the "Met" after his 

performance, we knew his 

nickname was indeed appro- 

as he stood but five feet four 

His shoulders, however, were 

large enough to put a taller man to 


His increasing popularity is easily 
understood when one has an opportun- 
ity to speak with him. His very engag- 
ing and magnetic personality, and pleasant face put us at ease as he said 
he'd be glad to answer our questions. 

Mr. Little told us that he came from Kansas City about fifteen years ago 
as one of the original "Tinpan Alley" composers. With radio popularity 
he was one of the first musicians to achieve a name for himself. He 
modestly told us that his songs were so poor that no publishers would ac- 
cept them, and he was forced to introduce them over the radio. 

It is hard for us to believe this, knowing that he is the author of some 
of the most popular hits including, "Jealous," "Oceans of Love by the 
Beautiful Sea", "Shanty in Old Shanty Town", "Baby Parade", and "The 
Wooden Soldier and the China Doll." 

His forte as everybody knows is the piano, but he also plays the violin and 
several wind instruments. 

Confidentially, he is a golf bug, and shoots around in the seventies, but 
he has been so busy that, though he brought his clubs, he has not had a 
chance to play. 

He is married and claims New York as his home city where on his re- 
turn he will start a steady run with his present orchestra at Hotel Lexing- 
ton. His present group of boys is the first orchestra he ever organized. In 
our opinion they are equal to any contingent we have ever heard. 

"What do I think of Boston? Well, I have only been here twice playing 

five and six shows a day, so ." 

Still thinking of his meaning, we shook hands and left, but not before 
promising a chance to see himself in Golden Rod print. 




As this issue carries out the radio motive, it is an appropriate if not 
good idea for this writer to express her latent views on a pet topic of our 
day — radio as an aid to education. That radio is fast becoming an almost 
essential factor in education there is little doubt. Its benefits are numer- 
ous, and, fortunately, available to most students. Regarded as a supple- 
ment to, rather than as a substitute for, book-learning, regularly spon- 
sored programs, not to mention "special features," offer to the student 
capable of applying it a wealth of knowledge — facts of current history 
which oral delivery vitalizes more than books and records ever could, and 
past history clearly interpreted in a manner far more expressive, and thus 
impressive, than the printed page. Authoritative talks and lectures em- 
bracing a variety of subjects from insects to foreign affairs are sent over 
the air waves to enrich our leisure moments, while the ever-handy news 
flashes and commentaries aid many a Problem of Democracy student in 
appearing well-informed on timely economic and social questions. And 
finally radio serves to elevate the American speech. We have become word- 
conscious because such announcers as Bill Haye, Carleton Dickerman, and 
John Holbrook have taught us correct pronunciation and inflection, often 
by sending us scurrying to Webster's, only to find that culinary is right. 
If your beliefs are similiar, reach for the dial instead of a balcony ticket. 


Over almost every broadcast from station Q. H. S. we hear the battle cry 
of equality from the Nertzies. "Five cents for ice-cream" is the war song. 
And why shouldn't it be, say the sympathizers. This is a country founded 
on equality, our ancestors fought for it, and here are we on the noble 
battle ground ready to take up arms against the foes. "Nertzies for all, 
all for the Nertzies." Still some spirit in the bodies of youth, isn't there? 

But wait, there must be some solution. If a world war could end in a box 
car, then shouldn't the differences-of-a-penny war be ended within the four 
brick walls of — no, not prison — but Quincy High School? 

We went to headquarters to interview Maestro Collins on this great and 
momentous question and we gained the following information: Our high 
school is run on a basis that aims to make accounts balance each year — no 
more, no less. Senior High's cafeteria is of necessity run on a larger scale 
than any other schools in our city. There are more helpers, larger scale 
production, two hot dishes instead of the usual one, larger and richer bowls 


of soup than can be sold for less than five cents, and free crackers for 
soup and free nabiscos for ice-cream. The school usually allows to lose 
money on the hot dishes, but the balance is made up by the sale of cake, 
ice-cream, and candy. Through the preceding years, the amount realized 
from cake and candy has not been sufficient to reduce the price of ice- 

We realize the demand of an explanation for the Nertzies is required. 
They have a right to it, and we know that such a spirit now, rightly ex- 
ercised, may even avert a depression in the future. 

But listen, Nertzies! You forgot about the Student Council when you 
started your campaign. Theirs is the job to keep things running smoothly, 
and keep everyone satisfied as far as it is within their power. We, as an 
entire school, should remember our Court of Justice and through its help 
in the future we may save public explanation and Maestro Collins' hair. 

New Boohs in the Library 

Reviewed by Betty Paragallo 

Nora Wain 

XMAGINE living for many years in exotic China as the adopted 
daughter of the aristocratic Lin family. This is what happened 
to Nora Wain, Philadelphia Quakeress. Her tale of life in the 
"House of Exile" takes you to a China seldom found within the covers of a 
book. There she lived in the most sheltered court of the homestead — the 
Springtime Bower, considered to be the only safe place, in a Chinese home- 
stead, for a "maiden of marriageable age." Close beside this was the Gar- 
den of Children where the children of the family lived and studied their 
lessons in the schoolroom court, a peaceful retreat with dividing walls of 
colorful tile. "The Place of the Meeting Winged Friends", "Court of the 
White Jade Rabbit", and "Within the Orchid Door" are but a few of the 
poetic names attached to various other courts of this expansive homestead. 
After twelve years in the splendor of the Lin clan, Nora Wain married 
a handsome Englishman in the foreign service at China. The first year of 
her married life she was confronted with the servant problem. Her ser- 
vant problem instead of being incompetency was the opposite. Since the 
whole staff had been with her husband throughout his bachelor days, 
they still regarded the "master's" word as law and thwarted all the prac- 
tical jokes she tried to play on him. When she ordered roast lamb with 
mint sauce for dinner, roast beef and Yorkshire pudding were invariably 
served. Understanding and time soon straightened out all difficulties, 
but for a while things were very amusing. 


Society in Shameen where they later lived is very formal. No Chinese 
are allowed to set foot on the island, which is strictly a Western Colony 
made up of the officials stationed in the foreign service at Canton. The 
women make their calls hatted and white-kid-gloved. 

The remainder of the book tells of the political situation which was be- 
coming more and more delicate. There are party uprisings, internal revo- 
lutions, and the beginning of the present struggle with Japan. 

Needless to say this delightful book is a real revelation of China. 


Antoine DeSaint — Exupery 

"Clear sky : no wind." 

Fabien smiled. If such reports continued, he would end his flight ; if not — 
A few hours later and Fabien knew the rest of the unfinished sentence, but 
it remained unuttered for the treacherous blackness of night had taken 
another hero of night flight duty. At home Madame Fabien waited in 
torturous suspense; waited for what? — the wreck of a man and just 
broken, cold steel. The once taut, fearless creature whose capable hands 
had sent the silver plane plunging through the air, lay limp — , defeated, — 
by a storm. The injustice of it! 

Riviere, the noble chief behind all the pilots of this story, passionately 
believed "that man's happiness lies not in freedom, but in acceptance of a 
duty." He loved his men, but didn't show it. To make the night air-mail 
service a success he had to go on regardless of the loss of lives. Thus 
Riviere bore his heavy load of victory. 

The shining courage of these men who keep their brave deeds in the 
dark touches us, and our hearts go out to the women they leave behind. 
Their lot is a constant prayer to the elements for a clear sky and a merciful 
night. Such are the threads of a story as admirable for its literary qualities 
as for the portrait of the pioneers of "Night Flight." 

Our Contest Judges 

Poetry Short Story 

Mrs. Helen McCarthy Mrs. William Doble 

Miss Elizabeth Stone Miss Georgiana Lane 

Mr. Roydon Burke Mr. Frederick Coates 

The "Golden-Rod" Editors wish to thank the 
judges for the time given to the judging of our contest; 
we greatly appreciate the interest which they showed. 


C. H. S. 


6 Sophomore day. Sophomores 
enter school the day before 
the juniors and seniors. Thus 
the innocent newcomers are 
not directed by the latter to 
imaginary elevators. 

7 Big noise. The upper class- 
men arrive. 

22 The F.'34 "Golden Rod" Staff 

Arrival of the F.'34 class 

6 We view our football heroes 
on the stage. 

11 Miss Slattery speaks to the 
girls and bovs ii the audi- 
torium on "The Youth of the 

12 Three cheers for Mr. Chris- 
topher Columbus! 

18 The papers announce that the 

teachers will be paid in 

20 The harriers of the school 

defend Quincy's name at 


26 Miss Raycroft and her high 
senior preparatory classes 
enjoy "Alice in Wonderland." 

27 First social function of the 
year — the Hallowe'en Dance. 

31 Nertzies open their campaign 
for lower ice cream and soup 

4 Girls' Club hikes to the Blue 

8 Sophomore Parents Night. 
8-15 Displav in library of Stu- 
dents' hobbies. 


As a result of the tremendous 
enthusiasm of the boys of the 
school for the radio, a Radio Club 
has been organized with Mr. Hud- 
son as faculty sponsor. The pur- 
pose of the club is to incite among 
the beys an interest in short wave 
radios and also to train them to 
become amateur operators, Al- 
though the organization has only 
recently started, several meetings 

have been held at which the Morse 
code has been studied. The group 
have expressed the desire that 
sometime they may be able to 
establish a station at the High 
School. The officers are: President, 
John Christiansen; Vice-President, 
David Sargent; and Secretary- 
Treasurer, Clyde Bonyman. 


In the school there is a very 
promising group of young astron- 
omers who constitute the Star 
Club. These young people are 
under the capable direction of Mr. 
Thomas, popular head of the 
Science Department. Although 
there is no formal organization, 
the results are very gratifying. 
The group meets each Tuesday 
afternoon. The purpose of the club 
is to learn some of the constella- 
tions and their names, the names 
of the brightest stars, and inter- 
esting facts concerning them. At 
a recent meeting, astronomical 
slides were shown which proved of 
great value to the members. Ob- 
servation nights have been held on 
Third Hill and were most enjoyable 
and instructive. 


Sunny Weather — If you brought 
your umbrella to school. Rain if 
vou left it at home. 


The Thalia Cllub, the honor 
sorority for the girls of the school 
held on Friday, October 20, the in- 
itiation of new members. Amid 
gales of laughter, thirteen new 
girls were welcomed into this club. 
The names of the newcomers are: 
Gertrude Booth, Lillian Fleish- 
man, Pearl Feldman, Norma Mac- 
Leod, Nancy McGuire, Mildred 
Melrose, Miriam Mattson, Helen 
Rizzi, Ellora Sargent, Miriam 
Stein, Edna Ruscitto, Ethel Amet, 
and Virginia Viner. 

At the first regular meeting of 
the club, some teachers of the 
school who visited the World's 
Fair during the summer gave 
short informal talks on what im- 
pressed them the most. The 
women teachei's were presented 
with bouquets of flowers, and the 
men, boutonnieres. 


A neiv club, the Camera Club, 
has been organized this year with 
Mr. Buckingham as adviser. The 
aim of the club is to learn how to 
make good pictui-es. Developing, 
photo-finishing, and enlarging are 
also included in the course. The 
members expect to add to their 
ability and appreciation of the 
artistry as well as of the tech- 
nique of photography. 

The club plans to have a bulle- 
tin board of its own and from time 
to time have displays of exhibition 
and competitive photographs. 

The officers of the club are: 
President and Chairman of Ways 
and Means Committee, Arthur 
Fowler; Secretary-Treasurer, Ways 
and Means Committee, Erna Koss; 
Ways and Means Committee, 
Toivo Nousio. 


The Poetry Club, a rapidly grow- 
ing organization of this school, has 
started another year of its im- 
portant existence. The club, which 
includes the poetic genius of the 
school, has a new adviser, Miss 



Joy L. Nevens. The officers are: 
President, Margaret Higginboth- 
am; Secretary, Doris R. Dennison; 
and Chairman of the membership 
committee, Pearl Williams. Miss 
Nevens, who has been affiliated 
with other poetic groups, has in- 
troduced novel methods for the 
study and writing of poetry. 


These include the 
following fiction group: Ayscough 
— "Firecracker Land", Edna Fer- 
ber — "Cimarron", Lawrence Mc- 
Kinley Gould— "Cold", Carveth 
Wells — "Adventure", Tomlinson — I 
"The Sky's the Limit", Don Glass- 
man— ''Jump", 

Why not be the first to read 
these books? 


Miss Margaret Slattery, nation- i 
ally famed lecturer, visited our 
school again on October 11. She 
was greeted very enthusiastically 
by the students. Contrary to the 
custom of other years, Miss Slat- 
tery included the boys of the school ; 
in her audience. It was necessary, 
owing to the enormous membership 
of the school, to have two assem- 
blies. There were several guests 
present, including Reverend and 
Mrs. Haskins, who are newcomers 
to the city, Miss Harrison, and Mr. 

This year, Miss Slattery's in- 
spiring talk was on the subject of 
"The Youth of the World." We 
were introduced, by means of word 
pictures, to boys and girls from 
various foreign countries includ- 
ing Russia, China, and India. By 
the thrilling examples of their 
leadership in times of changing 
conditions and upheavals of ideas, 
we were inspired by Miss Slattery 
to do our share in shouldering a 
great part of the burden of our 
country in these trying years. 

Quincy High wishes to take 
this opportunity to thank Miss 
Slattery for her lectures which 
are so eagerly anticipated by all 
the faculty and students. 


By Malter Minchell 

Flash — Quincy The sopho- 
mores of Quincy High School are 
certainly receiving a lot of atten- 
tion this year. The first day of: 
school was called "Sophomore 
Day." The object was to let the 
new r v Tid ever-welcome members ; 
of the school learn their way 
around without the assistance of [ 
the helpful ( ? ) juniors and 
seniors. Hitherto, these novices 
have spent much of their time in 
search of fourth floor elevators to 
which their enlightening brothers 
and sisters have directed them. The 
next thoughtful act tendered them 
was the Sophomore-Parents Night. 
This will ever be in the minds of 
these children the memorable 
night when their distinguished 
elders were permitted to visit with 
their teachers, touching here and 
there throughout their conversa- 
tion on rather delicate subjects 
The first social function of the 
year was the Hallowe'en Dance. 
The gym was artistically decor- 
ated in orange and black. Four 
hundred tickets were sold this 
year, fifty of which were for 
guests outside the school (as these 
sometimes come in handy) .... 
There were several new teachers 
added to the ranks this year: Miss 
Marr and Miss Carville, who are 
t lying to straighten out in the 
rrinds of some of the students (?) 
the differences between periods 
and apostrophes; Miss Palmer, who 
together with her pupils delves in- 
to the recesses of books to find the 
answers to such facts as "When 
did Washington cross the Dela- 
ware?" and Miss Reddy, who has 
undertaken to produce the next 
champion typist and bookkeeper . . 
The rings for the February seniors 
have arrived. They are very at- 
tractive and arouse comment 
whoever I hey are worn. Due to 

the activities of the Blue Eagle, 
however, when the second order 
was mailed, the prices had ad- 
vanced considerably (e'est dom- 
mage) . . . Miss Florence Rizzi, a 
very familiar figure in the office, 
has been ill in the hospital. We 
sincerely hope that her recupera- 
tion is very rapid and that she will 
soon be back with us ... At an as- 
sembly in the early fall, Mr. Col- 
lins made a statement which pro- 
voked much worry among indul- 
gent parents. In referring to the 
question as to where to put the 
juniors for chorus, he threatened 
to solve the problem by throwing 
these important people into the 
Town River (gracious!!). Some- 
thing apparently changed his mind, 
and the matter was settled by 
placing the girls in the senior 
chorus and the boys in the sopho- 
more chorus . . The girl cheer 
leaders are back. My, what a relief 
after an assembly where some of 
the other sex tried to excite a 
little enthusiasm in the audience. 
At the first appearance of the 
girls, the school was somewhat 
animated, and between this atti- 
tude and the pep of the girl 
leaders, (after several attempts) 
a rousing cheer was yelled . . .The 
customary procedure of choosing 
the "Golden Rod" Staff by vote of 
the class members has been dis- 
continued. The competitive method 
has been adopted, whereby any- 
one my try out for membership by 
submitting material to be judged 
by the "Golden Rod" faculty ad- 
visers. It was through this process 
that the present staff was chosen. 
This concludes our broadcast for 
the present . . . This is Malter 
Minchell signing off and remind- 
ing you that not all people have 
railroad radios*. 
*They whistle at every station. 



Over there it was: — 
Marching feet, 
Triumphantly conquering 

The enemy. 
Tramping feet, 
Eagerly charging 
The lines. 

Running feet, 
Victoriously going 
Over the top. 

Crawling feet, 
Slithering through 
No Man's Land. 

Then it was: — 
Marching feet, 
Triumphantly hack 
From the war. 

Tramping feet, 
Eagerly timed 
To the music. 

Running feet, 
Happily rushing 
To outstreched arms. 
Crawling feet, 
Dragging from 
The victorious parade. 

Now it is: — 
Marching feet, 
Bravely going 
On Hunger Marches. 

Tramping feet, 
Freezing and 
Nowhere to go. 

Running feet, 
Desperately stealing 
For little ones. 

Crawling feet, 
Hopelessly shuffling 
In Bread Lines. 

What is to come? — 
Marching feet, 
Triumphantly treking 
To work. 

Tramping feet, 
Swinging a full 
Lunch pail. 

Running feet, 
Eagerly rushing 
To wideflung arms. 

Crawling feet, 
Dragging from a 
Hard day's work. 

Erna Koss. 


Louis Paragallo Feb. '32 Takes Us The Other 
Side of The Mike 

October 24, 1933. 

To the Alumni Editor : 

I appreciate greatly your request for a letter to the Alumni column of 
the "Golden Rod." 

Like the legendary busman on holiday, I am glad to hear of a "radio 
issue" of the school magazine. Though I have done nothing that would 
make very good copy, I have found the three years that I have spent in 
radio work interesting. In radio you get practically all of the atmosphere 
of the stage and screen without the disadvantages of a wandering life. 
Therefore I would advise all of you who are greatly intrigued by visions 
of a stage career to try radio first. However, you will find both lines 
crowded, making it a matter of choice after all. 

The major part of my radio experience has been gathered in the studios 
of W L E, an independent Boston station with main studios in the Hotel 
Bellevue on Beacon Hill. For some weeks I was connected with the Yankee 
Network key stations, W N A C and W A A B. Since the latter stations are 
also members of the Columbia Broadcasting System, it is quite interesting 
to note their method of tying up the three outlets : Columbia, Yankee, and 
the two locals — N A C and A A B. Thus a program may originate in New 
York and be picked up or "tapped" by either of the local stations ; a local 
program may originate locally and be sent up and down New England over 
the Yankee tie-up; or it may be sent out only locally to the Boston area. 
Besides these combinations, quite often a program is sent "down the pipe", 
which is radio cant for a show that is broadcast only over the other member 
stations of the network, and not through the key outlets, as is usually the 
rule. So you see, there would be a good deal of room for a mix-up in timing, 
were not the schedules scientifically and carefully made out. Obviously, 
the minute is too large a fraction of time to be used in dealing with such 
complications, and as a result, network programs are worked on the half- 

27 ; 

There is a main control-room through which everything that goes on the 
air passes. Connected by wiring with this is what is known officially as an 
announcer's booth, usually a little six by ten cell with nothing in it but a 
chronometer, a loudspeaker, a chair, and a microphone. Here the an- 
nouncer sits (poor man) and waits the long hours through for "cuts" or 
"breaks" as they are known, which mean simply station identifications or 
announcements of the call letters, such as "W N A C in Boston." 

These "cuts" come either on the half or the quarter-hour, or usually both. 
Now, there is always a "cue" so that the local announcer may know when 
it is exactly the time to make his "cut." These cues vary with the chains, 
but on CBS programs it is : "This is the Columbia Broadcasting System." 
When the local man hears the network announcer say this, he "punches in" 
his own microphone by pushing a button on a control box before him. This 
puts him on the air with his "cut" or news flash. The cue invariably 
comes thirty seconds before the "nose" or exact half or quarter-hour. This 
means that at the end of a fifteen-minute program the cue is given at 
fourteen and one-half minutes past the hour, and on a thirty minute broad- 
cast, the warning phrase is given at twenty-nine and one-half minutes 
past. This leaves the announcer, who has cut in his mike at the cue, thirty 
seconds to make his station announcement and news flash, at the end of 
which he switches his mike off and the next program starts "on the nose" 
or exactly on the hour or half-hour as the case may be. 

The local announcements do not always consume the full thirty seconds 
allowed them by the networks, and in event of such a shortage of material, 
the remaining "dead air" or seconds of silence before the start of the next 
program must be filled in by a "sustainer" which is usually a bit of music 
or a run of bells or chimes played by some studio musician or recorded for 
just such emergencies. Despite these many measures of caution, there is 
often much confusion and scurrying about in radio stations to get pro- 
grams off on time, which the smoothly-running broadcast does not betray 
to the audience. 

Altogether it is a pleasant business (but for the hours) and it is educat- 
ing to meet the many personalities one does encounter in any form of the 
entertainment business. 

May I say just one word to those thinking of looking for radio work? Do 
not let yourselves be misled by the enormous sums reputed to be paid radio 
announcers or artists, since one hears only of the headliners in each field. 
For every one of these there are five hundred struggling plodders trying to 
make network ends meet. 

Thank you again for the privilege of writing you, and I suppose I should 

Signing off : 

Luis Marden 



eOOD afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, members of the Q. H. S. 
faculty and studes : This is your favorite station, D-O-P-E bring- 
ing you once again the greatest sports feature on the air— The 

Today, I would like to tell you about a city in Massachusetts, Quincy by 
name, which happens to possess the fightingest football team between the 
two poles. I could stand here all day telling you about that team but I'm 
not going to. I could tell you about the original Hard Luck Team, an out- 
fit which possesses every quality essential to a consistent winner except 
for that important item usually called Luck, but I'm not going to do that 
either. I shall let you judge for yourself; as a matter of fact you are go- 
ing to witness the major games of Quincy's season visualized for you by 
your old standby, Red Hooey. — Here we go ! 

Well, folks, we're going into the last quarter of this Quincy-Melrose 
game and there is still no score. These teams 
have battled forty-five minutes in a deadlock 
which must be broken this period. It's 
Quincy's ball, first down on their own ten 

yard line There's the pass from center 

It's fumbled ! They're all diving for 

that ball one minute, folks and we'll 

tell you whose ball it is It's Melrose's 

ball, first down and just listen to that crowd! 
. . . They're lining up . . . The ball goes to 
Brown . . . .He fades back! .... It's a pass! 
.... and a tochdown ! The score is Melrose 
6, Quincy 0. 

Signals! 1-2-3-4-Hike ! 

We're broadcasting the game between the Tufts Jay Vees and Quincy 
High .... It's Quincy's ball, first down on Tufts' 12 yard mark. Ordway 
is back . . . The pass from center is poor ! . . . Ordway is smothered for a 
four-yard loss . . . Second down, fourteen to go . . .Daley back . . . Again the 
pass from center is bad and Daley is nailed for a two-yard loss . . . Third 
down, sixteen yards to go . . . Malvesti passes to Troup for a six yard gain 
. . . Malvesti passes again but the heave is grounded . . . Tough luck, 
Quincy ! . . . Score Quincy 0, Tufts 0. 

Signals! 1-2-3-4-Hike 

Here they come and the crowd roars! Quincy High's football eleven is 
taking the field. The startinng lineup is Gookin, Service, Finn, Densmore, 
Alfano, Hughes, and Smollett in the line, Baldovin, Malvesti, Daley, and 
Ordway in the back field. 

The score is Quincy 13, Brookline 6. 

30^^ ^ — ^ 

Quincy's touchdowns were made by Baldovin on a line buck and by Daley 
on a wide end run. 

It's Quincy's ball at midfield. Ordway is back! He kicks! It's a long 
spiralling boot ! It falls in the end zone ! Smollett, the flashy Quincy wing 
is down under it and he falls on it over the goal-line and it's a touch-down. 
The final score is Quincy 19, Brookline 6. 

We're back in the studio again. We could have gone on and told you 
how the Lynn Classical game was lost because of two blocked punts, how 
the Newton game went because of poor booting and how a blocked kick 
gave New Bedford the winning margin of 13-7. To date Quincy High has 
played three undefeated contenders for the state schoolboy title and has 
three more of the same calibre yet to play. Considering the type of oppo- 
sition met, commendation in generous quantities is just what the doctor 
ordered for the fighting warriors of the gridiron. 

Today we're giving you a new slant on football from the view point of 
the participant. Often the players of a team have much more interesting 
thoughts than those of the manager or coach, and the worthy trio whose 
thoughts are hereupon inscribed are no exception. 

The three brutes who so graciously assisted ye humble scribe are "Pip" 
Alfano and "Sam" Asnes, a duo whose sideboards and moustaches have 
sent 9,346 local barbers to a certain institution located at Taunton, Mass., 
and Buck Densmore. 

According to Mr. Alfano who holds down that portion of the line gen- 
erally designated as left guard, the lineman has fully earned the title, 
"The Forgotten Man." Mr. Alfano points out that the idea of submitting 
to several sorts of mayhem in the line would be almost endurable if the 
fan realized that in order that the four gazelles might romp lightly hither 
and yon, the seven powerful, patient oxen must strive mightily. He is 
also under the impression that if the fans gave the lineman his rightful 
share of credit, there would be more candidates for those positions and 
less feeling that the homage is unevenly divided. 

It appears that Mr. Asnes enjoys the opening kick-off just about as much 
as a polar bear would enjoy a winter in Florida. While the customary pre- 
liminaries are taking place, ye quarterback is in a daze . . . Pep talk by 
coach . . . Still in a daze. The team runs out on the field and ye quarter- 
back finds that "your stummick don't seem to be there." The whistle shrills 
and the game is on ! Gone is the daze. Returned is the absent stummick. 
The game is on ! 

Mr. Densmore, whose job it is to deliver the oval from between his 
sturdy legs into the hands of the waiting backs, talks about the feelings of 
the squad before and in the early minutes of the game. 


The shower room would make an excellent studying-ground for a psy- 
chologist, for the actions and reactions of the team are both varied and 
interesting to behold. "Pat" Cleary flashes his nationality by adhearing to 
a peculiar superstition. He has never played a 'Varsity game with more 
than one stocking gracing his shapely shank. Walter Ordway sets not his 
cleats to the turf until every knot or suspicion of a knot has been care- 
fully removed from his shoes. Some of the fellows are serious, others are 
gay. No one feels especially happy. The golden tones of Bing Crosby are 
heard and Bill Coleman is received joyfully by his team mates to whom 
his mimicry is nearly as pleasant a thing as his playing. Perhaps the 
Queer Quartet, DiGravio, Baldovin, Alfano and Gookin will with murder- 
ous intent render a stirring ballad of original theme whose title is no less 
than "Vincentisio es un Escupatoro" or in English, "Vincent is a sweeper." 

Mr. Densmore now takes us to the field of battle. In his position of 
center he gets an excellent view of the opening play since he remains back 
on the kick-off. He sees his team going down under the kick, some taken 
out beautifully, others striding manfully past hopeful interferers to bear 
the hapless ball-carrier crashingly to earth. Some very cute little tricks 
are practised by linemen in general and centers in particular. We might 
mention the really amusing pastime of staving in your opponent's skull 
with cleated shoe, lightly nudging your opponent with your elbow so as to 
knock out all his teeth, and several other little mannerisms all of which 
make the game more enjoyable — to the fans. 

It's a beautiful scene at the stadium here today, folks. A record break- 
ing crowd is sending cheer after cheer volleying back and forth ; cheer 
leaders are performing their gyrations in perfect accord; two bands are 
blaring forth school songs of the rivals ; the Red and Black of North con- 
trasts effectively with the Blue and White of Quincy ! Numbered in the 
crowd are students of both schools, frenzied alumni and staid teachers 
whose customary mantle of stoic dignity has been ripped asunder by the 
gripping excitement of this terrific struggle between two well-drilled, 
fighting football teams. 

Forty-five minutes of this thrilling football and still there is no score ! 
The teams have battled to a dead lock which seems two powerful to break. 
Four times has North failed to cash in on Quincy's fumbles. Four times 
has this gallant Quincy eleven, fighting within the very shadow of its goal 
posts, resisted the attack of coach Donahue's Red and Black invaders. 
Passes, punts, placement kicks, end runs, line bucks, in fact all known 
ways of advancing the pigskin have figured in the heroic but fruitless at- 
tempts of the two outfits to break into the scoring. Only one sad incident 
has occurred to mar the pleasant atmosphere of this game, a report that 
"Cap" Bryan, North's great triple threat and fighting school idol, is suffer- 
ing at Quincy Hospital with a possible fractured hip . . . There's a commo- 


tion at the gates. They're bringing Bryan back ! They're carrying him to 
the bench and just listen to that crowd! 

There are five minutes to play. It's North's ball at midfield. They form 
into a single wingback formation, Ryan back. There they go ! Behind 
beautiful interference. "Peanuts" Ryan just swept around right end for 
25 yards and it's first down for North on Quincy's 20 yard line. They're 
lining up in kick formation, Nelson back. The ball is snapped ! It's a pass 
to Joly, far down the right side . . . He's in the clear. He's hit by Baldovin 
and he's over ! 

Listen to that crowd ! They've gone crazy ! The police are hard put to 
keep them off the field ! What a play that was ! Nelson is back for a place 
kick and — he just misses and the score is North 6 — Quincy — with two 
minutes to go. North kicks off and Quincy starts a march down the field 
with Daley, Asnes, and Ordway doing the ball toting. But they lose the 
ball on downs on North's 20 yard line as the game ends ! Next year — North ! 

Before our next broadcast, hockey and basketball are going to be in full 
swing so we'll tell you a little about these 
two sports so that you won't forget them in 
the light of enthusiasm for football. H. 
Kenneth Hudson, a gentleman who estab- 
lished Quincy as a hockey town last winter 
when he ran his whirlwind outfit within an 
ace of the state championship, will undoubt- 
edly enter another team in that same Bay 
State League which his charges nearly 
copped last year. His prospects look ex- 
ceedingly bright as he will have on hand 
such seasoned veterans as Bill Coleman, 
Pat Cleary, Walter Ordway, Vic and Bud 
Gavaza and Joe Neeley. Two promising 
sophomores, Wilcox and Lundin are ex- 
pected to bolster up the defenses. 

Basketball prospects look bright with last 
year's sophomore unit expected to form the 
nucleus of the team. The yearling outfit 

showed great power last winter and it was only a lack of experience that 
kept them from breaking more regularly into the starting lineups. The 
members of the team are; DiGravio, Ollila, Dunn, Pearson, McCollum, Alm- 
strom and Avery. The 'Varsity men back are MacMulkin, Kangas, Smol- 
lett and Pendergast. All in all it looks like a cozy winter for the local sports 
fiends with two promising teams in the making. 

We hope you have enjoyed our little program, folks. 


GALLING all sports readers! Calling all sports readers! Coach 
George Wilson's first call for cross-country candidates resulted 
in over forty-five harriers rallying for the first workout. Among 
the veterans who reported were Captain Irving Patten, Howard 
Davis, Allan Whitelaw, and Ralph Wheeler, a strong nucleus for another 
undefeated team. After several weeks of muscle conditioning and stam- 
ina building, time trials were held and Captain Irving Patten, Howard 
Davis, Ralph Wheeler, Allan Whitelaw, George Deveau, Fred Brennion, 
Jack MacCarthy, Toivo Nousio and Paul Lyons made Varsity. Calling all 
sports readers. Calling all sports readers 

Howdy listeners ! Here we are down in Braintree bringing you a word 
picture of the finish of the race between Quincy High and Braintree High. 
What a race! — What a race! The lithe figure of Baker from Braintree 
High is just breaking the tape for first place after completely running 
away from the remainder of the field. Here come Davis, Milne, Patten, 
Evans, Briggs, Wheeler; and Whitelaw, Nousio, Deveau, Countway, and 
Thayer, tie. Quincy wins 26-37. What a race ! . . . . 

Sports flash! Quincy cross-country team whips Arlington 27-28 in a 
bitter race over the latter's course The meet is packed with thrills. Howard 
Davis of Quincy loses first place to Captain Hall of Arlington over the 
last hundred yards of the race. They are followed by Patten, Evans, 
Cronin, Hanlon, Brennion, and Wheeler. Please stand by for a moment . . 

Station S-O-C-C-E-R on the air broadcasting from Faxon's field during 
one of its practice sessions giving you a 
week-to-week account of its activities. — 

O.K. "Doc" Whiting! Take it away! 

Hello sports followers! This year on ac- 
count of the financial conditions of the ath- 
letic association, I have been forced to take 
over Tommy Fleming's position as coach 
of the soccer team. The team deserves more 
time than I can give it with its informal 
eight game schedule. 

Three games have been played already. 
We opened the season at Exeter, New 
Hampshire where we were tied 1-1 by the 
Exeter men in a fast, clever game. Then 
we met New Bedford High and after a tense, rugged game, we were forced 
to take it on the chin by a 2-1 score. In the third combat we met North 
Quincy High. At last we struck the form we had attempted to reach in 
earlier contests, handing the Northerners their loss. 

The regular Varsity team boasts Jim Shearer and Stewart Steele, full- 
backs; Henry Galbcrg, Russ Sullivan, and George Anderson at the inter- 


mediate positions ; Eddie Pyne, John Robertson, John Logan, Jimmy Mc- 
Guire, and Chisholm, forwards; and Power, goal. 

KELLO, sports fans ! Here we are again with the latest inside story 
on Q. H. S. girls' athletics. Each class wins a championship in 
the fall sports this year. The Sophs beat the Juniors 4-3 in tennis, 
and scored a surprise upset over the Seniors, 4-2. Frances Bax- 
ter, Priscilla Baxter, Ruth Bissett, Iola Calderone, Iris Stelfox, Margaret 
Morin, Tyyne Torvi, and Mary George are the girls of the racquet. 

The Juniors, led by Captain Christina Brown, whisked away school 
soccer championship. The first game with the Seniors held a scoreless tie ; 
but in the second, Miss Brown scored the only goal, the winning point for 
her team. Isabelle McAuley, Mary Grazioso, Eileen Murphy, Edith Mos- 
cardelli, Sigrid Huovinen, Margaret Mattson, Claire Giarusso, Rita Duffy, 
Aili Karhu, Captain Chris Brown, Miriam Larson and Reva Paven have 
earned their "Q's". 

Captained by Helen Spadorcia, the Seniors won the Field Hockey title 
after defeating the Juniors 1-0, and the 
Sophs 6-1. The champs, whose names you 
have heard over this network before, are: 
Captain Helen Spadorcia, Dot Brown, Mar- 
garet Crichton, Margaret DeWiee, Ethel 
Hollman, Mary Little, Esther Osberg, Anna 
Sheehan, Mae Smith, Marjorie Smollett, 
Georgiana Gillan, Martha Greenwood, and 
Avis Walker, Basketball candidates have al- 
ready signed up, and play will soon be under 
way. Tune in the same station next issue, 
and until then 

The King of Jazz 

[Continued from page 19] 

people who gave him opportunities for stardom. Mr. Whiteman has a 
great liking for Bing who he said is the "best of the best." Probably all 
of us will agree to that. 

I was interested but surprised to learn that Paul Whiteman's son has 
shown so far no interest in music, but he is a great admirer of Ben Bernie. 

After a few more minutes of pleasant talk, the back-stage light flashed 
red, giving Mr. Whiteman exactly six minutes to appear in the wings of 
the spacious Keith stage, ready for his cue. With the old philosophical 
story on his lips "Back to Work" and a pleasant good-bye, Mr. Whiteman 
stepped forth to delight another Boston audience. A few minutes later I 
heard a thunderous applause greet the popular "King of Jazz." 



DO one has ever written a literary or artistic composition concern- 
ing our water boys, or, if we must stoop so low, ever mentioned 
them ; the boys who in spite of wind or rain will always carry on. 
When we attend a football game we see no one but our idols 
who prance and strut about the field amid the wild screams and cries of the 
howling mob, while our water boys, like Venus at the pump, fill their 
buckets and, with head held high, totter back to their places at the bench 
and await patiently for the cry of "water" from the field. But when our 
demi-gods are injured, who runs out to assist them, and slops water all 
over their already muddy uniforms ; who nearly drowns them in over-eleva- 
tion of fancy at helping out a fellow team-mate? Who, when the whistle 
has blown at the end of the half and the cheering section echoes with the 
clamoring and loud proclaiming of the names of the heroes who have 
fought bravely and have scored, runs out to take towels to them, and then 
staggers back carrying their warm-up jackets and the extra footballs, plus 
their own ever-present pails? Do they get any applause or tribute, or is 
any honor bestowed upon them; in fact, is even gratitude expressed? 

What are we going to do for these valiant and courageous youths who 
endure the banter and satire of the riotous assembly with a look on their 
countenance of happiness and peace, which comes only to those who have 
answered the call? 

Steak and Potato 

[Continued from page 6] 

was all too evident that the tramp did not wish to work that day. 

Once inside again Dick was told by the meat and vegetable cook that 
they were nearly out of chicken. They would need more for supper. 

"I'd better call up Foster's for about eighteen pounds of dressed fowl to 
be delivered in an hour," decided Dick. 

"About twenty-three would be safer." 

Dick went to the telephone and began to ring, but a cackle made him 

"Yes, and I've seen neither hide nor hair of him since I left the hospital 
that afternoon. John was always sensitive and I suppose the scars were 
terrible. I wish I could help him." 

"If he's living, Elsie," said another voice. 

"He must be," declared the lady in blue, her voice subsiding to a plain- 
tive tone. "I wonder if he ever goes hungry." 



America's Court Queen 

An Interview by Oliver Kangas 
and Toivo Nousio 

XT was one brisk Monday morning in October that we sat in the 
attractive library of Mrs. Leslie A. Friend of Melrose waiting to 
meet Miss Helen Jacobs, queen of American tennis courts. While 
we were nervously trying to imagine how our subject would ap- 
pear with only a poor recollection of a picture we had seen in a newspaper 
to guide us, in walked a figure attired in a chic blue and white pa jama 
ensemble accompanied with white furred slippers. Could this amicable, 
alluring young lady of the brown hair and hazel eyes be Helen Jacobs? 
In a few seconds our hopes were confirmed. We found Miss Jacobs as 
pleasant in words as in looks. Then we fired the barrage of questions. 

"Where were you born and educated, Miss Jacobs?" 

"I was born in Bisbee, Arizona and attended a girls' school in Berkeley, 
California and later the University of California." 

"What first started you off on your tennis career?" 

"Through a mistake my name was entered in the 1923 Pacific Coast 
Tennis Championship at Berkeley, California and favored by luck I made 
the semi-finals. Since then I have participated in all sorts of tournaments 
in this country as well as in Europe." 

"What has been the greatest aid in your achieving the position of being 
the foremost tennis player in the United States?" 

"The instructions I have received from "Big Bill" Tilden, Mrs. George W. 
Wightman, Howard Kinsley, and several other well-known tennis players." 

"What are the general requirements of a person wishing to be a better- 
than-average tennis player?" 

"One must have natural ability or practice assiduously the mechanics of 
tennis. A person should not play tennis to win but to emphasize certain 
tennis principles and perfect difficult shots." 

"What do you think about the professional field of tennis?" 

"Professional tennis has its place, yet here in the United States it is still 


in its infancy. Our professionals are made up mostly of dethroned amateur 
tennis champions, while in Europe, where professional tennis has a very 
high standard, the pros have made it their vocation from the beginning 
and in most cases have never played as amateurs." 

"What are your plans for the near future?" 

"I expect to take part in the Wightman Cup matches in 1934. At present 
I am planning to write for magazines and newspapers during the coming 
winter since writing has always had the greatest appeal of a number of in- 
terests, tennis included. If successful I may make it my vocation." 

Our last question answered, we thanked Miss Jacobs for her time, prom- 
ised to send her a copy of our magazine, and retired, regretfully knowing 
all good things must come to an end. 

In the Depths 

[Continued from p*ge 14] 

"Haul up the mooring line quick!" he shouted into his helmet, speaking 
slowly and plainly so that there would be no mistaking his orders. After 
repeating it twice he felt the rope tighten and they started upward. The 
deck of the S-40 faded out of sight. 

Although they were rising fast, hours seemed to pass before the stage 
was reached. Phil propped his friend against the side and hung on. Breath- 
lessly he shouted : 

"No decompression. Haul us up quick!" 

Finally the stage rose from the water and swung over the railing to the 
deck. Without questions they were rushed to the decompression chamber 
and put under pressure. 

It was after dark before the pressure was down to normal and they were 
carried to their bunks. Evans had regained consciousness after an hour in 
the "iron doctor" and was almost his own self by the time he was fully de- 

In a few days Tom Evans was diving again and though the incident had 
outwardly blown over, it was deeply imprinted upon his memory and in 
his heart a stronger bond of friendship had grown for his shipmate. 

The Romance of Names 

[Continued fp-tn page 8J 

vorite places over the globe, and become acquainted with towns and 
countries whose names I have come to love. And What Cheer, Iowa, will 
be one of the first stops. Rockaway and Point Pleasant, New Jersey, sound 
like two ideal places for such a lazy person as I, and Spring Hill, England, 
reminds one of a Stevenson poem. It has the lilt and freshness of eternal 
spring in its name, and one cannot imagine winter coming to such a place. 
So could I go on giving innumerable instances of charming names, but I 
shall leave you your own enchantment to make. Just remember that the 
only wand you need is a sparkling imagination. 

38 = — — == 

twenty paint 


One of our most 
prominent gradu- 
ates, George Will- 
iams, is spending 
his spare time 
painting his house 
to the tune of "I 
Wake Up Smil- 
ing," accompanied 
by his chorus of 

Tiger Nugent, that well-known 
sartorial authority on what the 
well-dressed man will wear, has 
been appointed official tailor to 
Mahatma Gandhi. 

The only way study pupils in the 
hall can tell the time is to read the 

Alex and Gus Kuhns, those two 
most violent advocates of the fu- 
tility of education, are back at the 
old Alma Mammy taking P. G's. 

What would happen if Mr. 
Rhinehalter should be stricken 
with aphonia? (loss of speech). 

We have heard that Jack Gates 
will write a treatise on how to 
waste time successfully. 

How many know that our aus- 
tere vice principal is taking up a 
correspondence course on detec- 
tive work and how to get your 

The sophomores have discovered 
there is no school Saturdays. 

Did you know that Jack Can- 
non's ambition is to be a glass 

♦ * * 

"An effigy is a simile of a man." 

So That's the Trouble? 
Miss Connolly: What does a busi- 
ness do whose routine becomes 

Voice: Commits suicide. 

* * * 

Self Service 
Tarr (in Biology) : How do the 
butterflies eat when they're flying 
over oceans? 
Satterlund: They pack a lunch. 

^ * * 

Miss McHardy: What is a grub 
worm ? 

Patten : Those are the ones we eat. 

* * * 

It's no wonder that Ed McLeod 
is sprucing out in lots of new 
clothes — he takes up the collection 

at church now. 

* * * 

Not Even Sheepish 
Mr. Briggs (in Geometry) : Cos- 
saboom — next example. 

Bob: Oh! I can't do this work, 
but I don't want to pull the wool 
over your eyes — I came in here to 

learn how to make figures. 

* * * 

Speaking of Nudists 
Sign on Tennis Court: Players 
must wear tennis shoes only. 

* * * 


Ordway (to fair friend) : Say, 
did you ever try listening to a 
teacher with your eyes shut? 

She : No, did you ever try listen- 
ing to one with your mouth shut? 

* * * 

A Complete Wreck 
He spoke in an English derelict. 



"Hold Me" 

Library slip 

Dozing in the study hall. 
"Stay Out of My Dreams" 

That deficiency. 
"Butterflies in the Rain" 

Going home on a rainy day. 
"I'll Be the Meanest Man in Town" 

Mr. Wilson in detention. 
"One Hour With You" 

Detention, also. 
"Try a Little Tenderness" 

To the teacher at the end of five 
"I Can't Believe It's True" 

Quincy beats Brockton. 
"Till the Shadoivs Retire" 

Doing homework. 
"Let's Try Again" 

"A Little Street Where Old Friends 

The first floor corridor. 
"That's My Weakness Now" 

Mr. Collins making jig-saw puz- 
zles out of hall scraps. 
"Stringing Along on a Shoestring" 

Just passing. 
"Who's Afraid of the Big Bad 

A call to Mr. Wilson's office. 
"Hold Your Man" 

The football tackle. 
"Bless Your Heart" 

The sophomore. 
"Don't Blame Me" 

Dropping a milk bottle in the 
"The Last Roundup" 


fTou know I B M q UIT6 „ UTERBRf 


Quite a Tie-up 
Miss Giles: What is a Moor? 
Al Keith: I've heard about 
mooring a boat. Get the connec- 

Mr. Briggs 

LXXX mean? 
Joan : Oh I 


nd Latin! 
(In test) What does 

know, love and 

The Old Family Essay 
Miss Giles: Sam, I'm going to 
write a note to your father and 
tell him how poor this essay is. 
Asnes : 0. K. by me — he wrote 


* * * 

90° in the Moon 

Miss Nead: The days in Gren- 
oble, France are very hot. 

French Student : Never mind the 
days, how about the nights? 

Miss Nead : They're pretty hot, 


* * * 

Godfrey was dressed up in his 
satan suit. 


Plus Fours 

Teacher in history class: What 
happened in 1483? 

Student promptly: Luther was 
Teacher: What happened in 1487? 

After a long pause : Luther was 
four years old. 

Hand Drawn Work 
Advertisement: We do not tear 
your laundry cruelly by machines, 
we do it carefully by hand. 

Waiving Ignorance? 
Lempi : I'm getting a permanent 

Helen: Whereabouts? 

Lempi: Head, stupid! 

* * * 

We call Fairfield brown "Sugar" 

because he's sweet, but not refined. 

* * * 

All Wet! 

Miss Giles: The brain is like a 
sponge, it absorbs what surrounds 
it and then it's up to me to — 

Norling: Squeeze it! 


With profound apologies to 
my friend 

0. O. MdNTYRE 
Milk and spinach I abhor 
Sewing and housework I deplore 
In math and science nihil's my 

Snakes and snobs I'd like to claw. 
Good books and bikes have fascina- 
For jet-black cats I've kitty ration 
Radio lights are a sensation 
And journalist's my avocation. 

Other things that I dislike 

Are teachers who are always right 

Those meticulously polite 

And my unpardonable height. 

Loads of carmels I could eat 

0. 0. 's a columnist I should meet 

Leslie Howard is real sweet — 


At last this poem is complete. 




As I stepped from the train at the 

Grand Central Station, 
The people were having a great 

Vast crowds were filling the air 

with their cheers, 
That rattled the windows and 

deafened the ears, 
I spoke to a girl who was standing 

near by 
And asked her the wherefore and 

also the why. 
Said she, "Why, sure, don't you 

know that to-day 
We honor the noted Sir Henry de 

A famous discoverer who visits 

our land 
Must be greeted with cheers and a 

ninety-piece band. 
Jale College has made him a Doctor 

of Laws ; 
Our statutes need doctors to rem- 
edy flaws. 
The papers are full of his state- 
ments and views, 
What he eats for his breakfast we 

read in the news." 
She stopped for a breath, and I 

questioned her then, 
"What did he discover; and how, 

where, and when?" 

"He's the greatest discoverer the 
world's ever seen ; 

In some restaurant soup he dis- 
covered the bean." 

Quit? fl"Bi& 
Shot flTSeiuiot; 

/Th£N WHY 

/■Doiu'rx Mean 


One Arm Lunch 

A Latin student: The Romans 
lie on one elbow and eat with the 
other ! 

* * * 

Naked Ghost? 

Miss McHardy : Helen, what is a 
skeleton ? 

Spud : Well, er — it's a man with 
his inside out and his outside off. 

Quick, A Murad 

Soph: I saw a man swallow a 
sword last night. 

Sachetti: That's nothing. Last 
night I saw a man inhale a camel. 

He who laughs last, seldom sees 
the point anyway. 



to start planning what you are going to do after you graduate from 
Quincy High School. College may be one of the possibilities, but you 
might continue the thought further and plan what you want to be doing 
five years after you are out of High School. 

Consult Mr. Collins or Miss Harrison about the various careers and 
their possibilities. Business is one of the main ones, and in times like 
these a great deal of preparation is necessary before entering it. Yes, a 
broad education is advisable, and then a training for some special phase. 

That's why it's not too early to start planning, and that's why we 
invite you to come in to talk the matter over with one of the officers of this 
school. We would be very glad to give you our suggestions as to what 
courses to take to best prepare for your chosen line of business. If you 
have no choice, we might be able to help you decide. 

At any rate we hope that it may be convenient for you to come in 
(we do not employ any outside salesmen or canvassers) to the school at 
the corner of Boylston and Arlington Streets, to talk over your plans for 
the future. Or, write or phone L O. White, Principal, Bryant & 
Stratton Commercial School, 334 Boylston Street, Boston. 

Ship's Haven 

Anchor at a Safe 

Port and Eat at 

this Haven 

1237 Hancock Street 

Ufljelma 3K. ilonea 

School of Dancing 
All types of Stage Dancing and 

Em Milton — Q lincy — Adams Shore 

Phone Granite 4540-W 

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Beauty Parlor 

25 Temple Street - Quincy, Mass. 

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In response to many requests we have 
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only — on days when school is in ses- 

Come down and enjoy our 
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390 Water Street 

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The co-opc r 
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n his tun her 


i >r Men and Women)] 

' ■ rrrmplfll r a o 1 1 1 - • ■ 

, . ' ■ ... 

t' .1 [uilhcr ■ ■ . <nt. 

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